Cinder
by Saiyaness28
Summary: A retelling of Cinderella. Cinderella is a boy called Cinder and is in love, not with a beautiful princess, but one of his ugly step-sisters, Anatole. They hide their secret affair. When he meets the gorgeous princess will he abandon Anatole?
1. Chapter 1

Cinder

Chapter One

I'm sure everyone has heard the fairytale of the servant girl nicknamed Cinderella by her wicked step-mother and step-sisters who was transformed into a beautiful lady of the court and stole the handsome prince's heart with a single dance at the royal ball, and who was reunited with him and became queen thanks to a tiny lost shoe. This…is not that story…well, not quite. Still, it begins the same.

_Once upon a time…_

_

* * *

_

In a kingdom far away, there lived a widower and his young son. When the boy was eight years old, his father remarried. He wed a wealthy widow who had two daughters around the boy's age. One was a tall and thin thing with pretty features and luxurious, wavy blond hair that fell to mid back. Green eyes narrowed shrewdly at the widower's modest home in the countryside. The other however, was shorter and built like a cherub, chubby and round faced. Her black hair coiled into curls about her head. Large, brown eyes took in the world like open mouths gulping air. She was ready and eager to experience the world and all it had to offer.

The boy's new step-mother was kind in the beginning. She spoke softly to him and laughed at the jokes that he made. His sisters too were kind enough. The blond one was polite to him, but she never offered to play a game with him or anything of that sort. The black haired one was very quiet and soft spoken. Sometimes, the rest of the family would forget that she was even there. However, the boy never forgot her presence. Even through her silence, he could see that she was somewhat happy with her new life with a blended family. Her tiny lips would stretch ever so slightly into a closed lipped smile as she ate at dinner, listening to the family's chatter about their day. Unlike her sister, she did not turn up her nose at him when he asked her to play. She was hesitant, but this was out of shyness and it was easily over come. She giggled with him as they ran around the yard, chasing each other and sometimes even throwing mud, much to their parents' dismay. Still, she rarely spoke, but that was just fine with the boy. Her laugh and her smile were proof enough that she liked him and was happy to have a new brother, even if they were not related by blood.

The happiness, however was short lived and the kindness that the boy received was stripped away in a single moment. While fox hunting with some other men from the village, the boy's father was thrown from his horse. His neck was broken in the fall and he died instantly. Almost as soon as the poor boy's father was buried, the step-mother took a drastic change. She was no longer kind to him. She no longer claimed him as a step-son. She threatened to send him to an orphanage, but decided instead to put him to work in her household.

The boy did not mind. In fact, he was happy that he got to stay. All that he wanted was to be able to stay with them. They were the closest thing to family that he had. And at least he'd get to hear the black haired cherub's laugh and watch her smile…and perhaps from time to time he'd hear her voice, whispering in his ear, her most secret of thoughts.

Ten years passed over the land since the day the widower died. The boy grew up into a strong and handsome young man, his face held masculine features and his body was hard from doing back breaking labor for most of his life as his ex-step-mother's servant. Upon reaching puberty, the step-mother became increasingly aware of how handsome he was getting. To protect her maturing daughters' virtue, she banished him to the servants' quarters. There was not enough beds for him, so he was forced to sleep in front of the tiny servants' house's fireplace. Due to this, he was often covered with ashes. As a joke, his closest step-sister, Anatole, started calling him Cinder. The playful nickname, unfortunately backfired. Thinking that she meant it as an insult, the blond, Babette and her mother started calling him that as well.

The man called Cinder was actually named Henri. Sometimes he suspected that the masters he once called family had forgotten that. Hell, sometimes he couldn't remember his actual name. All day long, Babette and her mother barked orders at him, "Cinder, fix the door on the barn!" or "Cinder, find my shoes! The blue ones!" The only time he did not mind being called by his nickname was when Anatole said it. For he knew that she did not call him that to look down on him or to insult him. It was a pet name, said with love and kindness. And unlike her sister and mother, she still called him Henri sometimes, reminding him that he wasn't just Cinder the servant, but Henri, the same little boy she used to run around with and have mud fights with. He still chased her around when no one was watching. He didn't dare throw mud at her anymore, more in fear of tarnishing her pure, milky flesh, than of retribution from her mother for getting her clothes dirty.

Both of the girls had grown beautiful in Henri's eyes. Babette, with her slender frame, lovely creamy skin and full breasts could stop any man in their tracks. But she was ugly on the inside, spoiled and hateful. To most, Anatole was not what was considered beautiful. She was larger boned than her sister and shorter. She still had a baby's round face, framed by tight coils of black. Most would say that she was fat, but Henri didn't think so. She reminded him of all those nude goddesses in the Italian master pieces. She was fleshy and soft, curvy and womanly. And she still had those absurdly large brown eyes that gazed upon the world each and every day in absolute wonder. Those eyes made him quiver every time she looked at him.

"Cinder!" Henri's body stiffened at the call as he was laying fresh hay along the bottom of the stall he'd been cleaning. A smile stretched his lips. It was Anatole calling him. She'd gotten a little more talkative as she grew more comfortable with him over the years, but she was still quiet. Any opportunity to hear her soft voice was a blessing that made his heart flutter and a smile appear on his handsome face.

"Yes?" He asked, straitening his back and turning to see her walk around the corner and enter the stables. He discretely admired the way her soft curls bounced when she moved and the slight flush in her cheeks that worsened as she discovered that he was not wearing a shirt.

She bowed her eyed, attempting to appear like she was not staring at his bare chest, when in fact her eyes had never moved. "M-mother is calling you. She wants tea." She stammered.

"I'll be right in." Henri assured her. He leaned the pitchfork against the wall and grabbed his shirt from where he'd hung it on a nail. He shrugged it on as he and Anatole walked across the yard, towards the main house. He looked around the yard, making sure that there was no one to see before reaching to take her hand in his. She closed her short fingers around his larger hand and smiled shyly at him, her long eyelashes fluttering in the pleasure of having his skin touching hers. "Do you need some apples?" He asked. "I was thinking of going to the orchard and picking some for you."

Anatole's lips stretched further into a smile. Apples were her most favorite thing in the world to eat. You could make so much with them, jam, cakes, pies, and they were not bad on their own either. Henri never forgot her love for apples and he always made sure that she had plenty of them when they were available. "Wait until after breakfast and I'll go with you." She said softly, her whole face warming under Henri's sky blue eyes.

"That's not necessary. I can do it." He said, stubbornly. "You don't have to help."

"But I want to." She insisted.

He picked up their linked hands and rubbed his thumb against her palm. "If I keep letting you help me, you're going to get calluses on your pretty, soft hands."

Anatole's face felt like it were on fire now and her stomach was flipping restlessly. Only he made her feel like this, like she was going to explode. It made her crazy. She pulled her hand out of his grasp, in hopes that he wouldn't notice how sweaty her palms were. "I don't care about calluses. You work so much. I like to help you when I can." She said.

"Very well." Henri sighed, trying to hide the pleasure filled leer that was threatening to appear on his face. He had noticed the sheen of sweat on her hands and how absolutely nervous she looked. Honestly, it thrilled him to no end. "I'll wait for you outside the servants' house. Come to me when you are finished with breakfast."

Anatole took her seat by her sister at the table, while Henri slipped into the kitchen to begin brewing the tea. Babette cocked a blond eyebrow at her as she sat down with a sigh. " Anatole, why is your face so red?" Babette asked, cattily.

"I-I've been running." Anatole lied. In truth it was Henri who'd made her turn the color of a beet.

"Running?" Babette cackled. She reached over and pat Anatole's stomach. "My dear sister, if you ran at all, your stomach would not be so large."

"I did run. I was hurrying to find Cinder." Anatole replied. She flinched inwardly at the insult, but shoved the pain aside for the moment. She was used to her sister's cruelty by now and she never wanted to give Babette the pleasure of seeing her cry for something she had said.

"I bet you were." Babette giggled.

"What do you mean by that?" Asked their mother, the solemn and demure lady of the house. "What are you implying?"

Babette grinned at her mother, cutting her eyes at Anatole, who sank further in her seat, nibbling at her lips, anxiously.

"It's just that Anatole and Cinder are awfully close, mother. Sometimes they sneak off together to do only god knows what. I suspect they've been going for tumbles in the hayloft." Snickered Babette.

"That's not true at all." Anatole piped up, still not daring to raise her voice to the scream she'd been holding back for most of her life. "Cinder and I are friends." She explained to her mother, trying to assure her that there was nothing romantic going on between them. "I help him with his chores sometimes, that's all. I promise you mother, I would not do anything that would bring shame upon our family."

"I know my dear." Her mother said in a shrewd voice. "Babette you should not jump to such absurd conclusions. What would Cinder want with Anatole?" She said with a chuckle, implying that Anatole was too ugly for even a servant boy to desire her, especially not one as handsome as Cinder.

Anatole knew this. She could read it in her tone and in her face, her black, unloving eyes, flittering over her face and body, noting every single flaw. It sent another pang of pain through her. It squeezed her heart like a serpent coiled around a mouse, bringing tears to her eyes that she would not dare shed in front of them. The sound of the kitchen door swinging open snapped her back to attention. Cinder entered the room, carefully balancing a silver tray, laden with the tea pot and some cups and saucers. He sat it on the table, reaching over her shoulder to place it at the center. The sleeve on his arm was rolled up to his elbow and the skin on his forearm lightly grazed a bare spot on her shoulder as he reached over her. The contact sent shivers through her and the smell of him, a mixture of hay and ashes, blurred her vision with pleasure. God, she'd want nothing more than to have him take her and make her his, to kiss her and love her, but her mother and sister were right. What would such a handsome man want with her? She was too fat and ugly to be desired, least of all by this princely servant. They were friends and that was all they could ever be.

After placing the tea down, Henri saw the troubled expression on Anatole's face. He'd heard their teasing from the kitchen. No doubt her viperous sister and mother had hurt her feelings deeply. He flashed her the silly grin that usually made her laugh, but Anatole's lips did not pull back up in the corners. She stared down at her hands on the table, frowning as if someone dear to her had died. He wished he could tell her that it wasn't true, that he did desire her, more so than he had ever desired any woman, that he thought that he was even in love with her, but he was afraid to do that. He was, after all, a servant, and her status conscious mother would never allow them to be together. He didn't want to break his dear Anatole's heart. That was the last thing he'd ever want to do.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Have you finished cleaning the stables, Cinder?" Asked the girls' mother.

"Almost, mistress." He answered. "It shouldn't take me too much longer."

"Good." She said, after a sip of tea. "After you are finished with that, see to it that the animals are all fed. Then I want you to give all these floors a thorough washing."

"Yes, mistress." He said with a quick bow of his head. He smirked again at Anatole, but he still got no reaction. Instead, she turned her head away from him and downcast her eyes, hiding their wide eyed beauty under pale lids and fans of dark lashes.

"What on earth are you smirking at?" Asked the mistress, eying him with a sour expression.

"N-nothing, mistress." He said.

"Then wipe that stupid look off your face and get back to work, you foolish boy." She commanded.

Henri's lips quickly fell into a thin line and he hurried away.

Henri finished cleaning the stables while the family ate and then went to wait by the door of the servants' house for Anatole. He leaned his back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, frowning at the earth. What right had they to call Anatole ugly? She was the most beautiful of them all, for unlike them she had a pure soul. She was good and kind. She didn't deserve to be treated that way at all. It was no wonder she had such a poor self-esteem.

After a few moments of waiting and pondering, Anatole finally appeared, carrying the basket she liked to store her apples in. He smiled at her and pushed off the wall, extending a hand to her, hoping that she'd take it. Anatole only met his eyes for a second before turning her eyes to the ground ahead of her and walking on. They walked in silence towards the apple orchard for a long time. Henri watched her sad expression all the while, scowling as he wracked his brain for a way to bring a smile back to it. Her sculpted lips remained pressed together, unwilling to part to say anything to him. Her eyes remained downcast, not allowing him to see them in all their wondrous glory. She gripped the handle of the basket with both hands, depriving him of her flesh. Both her emotional and physical distance from him made his heart ache.

"Anatole? Why do you look so sad? Don't listen to what those evil women say." He said, his voice warm and soothing to her ears.

"But they are right, Cinder. I'm not pretty at all." She sighed, her lips finally parting to release the sorrow of her heart.

"No, they are wrong." He said, his blond brows angling sharply in anger. He grabbed Anatole's elbow and pulled her back to him, keeping her from walking away and ignoring his words. "You're beautiful, Anatole." He said, sternly, his eyes locking with hers, swimming within their oceans.

Finally the heavens opened, shining God's holy light upon him, as Anatole's pink lips curved slightly into a meek smile. "My dear, Cinder, you are too kind to me." But just as swiftly as it came, the smile disappeared again, "But I know that you are only trying to cheer me up." She pulled her elbow free of his grasp and walked on. "I am not blind. I have seen my reflection in the mirror. I am no beauty."

Henri bit his lip to keep from screaming out the secret desire he held in his heart and clenched his hands into fists at his sides to restrain himself from reaching out and taking her wholly into his arms. He muttered a frustrated grumble deep in his throat as he followed a few feet behind. If only she could see what he saw…if only the world could see it. Anatole would be worshipped.

Anatole came to a tree, laden heavily with fruit and began to pluck the red beauties away from the limbs. A placid expression played on her face as she worked, neither happy nor sad, simply empty. Henri went to the tree as well and began to help her with the harvest, picking the apples off the tree and tossing them into her basket. Anatole's brown eyes fell upon a large, ripe apple, on a high branch. She reached for it, but she was too short. It mocked her from it's distant vantage point.

"Let me get it for you." Henri said, reaching for the apple. He was tall, but the devil was still too far away. "I'll have to climb up the tree to get it."

"No, I can do it." Said Anatole, gently pushing him to the side with a small hand on his chest. The meaningless gesture made Henri's breath stall in his lungs. She grabbed a hold of a lower branch, and, gaining some leverage from where the limbs joined the trunk, she began to haul herself upwards.

"Be careful." Henri pleaded with her, watching on in absolute pride as she climbed. It was he who had taught her how. He remembered pleasantly the many summers he had spent with Anatole, bouncing around in the limbs of the apple trees, hiding from his wicked step-mother and all the chores she and Babette had acquired for him back at home.

Suddenly, there was a cracking sound, followed by Anatole's shrill scream. She came plunging back down to earth, crashing down onto Henri.

Henri moaned as he blinked away the dust that was kicked up into the air when he fell. There was a weight pressing down on his chest, keeping him from taking a full breath. He reached to move the object and his hand brushed against, warm, soft flesh, and silky curls. "Analote?" He gasped, sitting up tenderly.

Analote's eyes fluttered open and after a moment, she realized where she was, splayed out on top of Henri. With a squeak, she scrambled off of him and tried to stagger to her feet. However, as soon as she tried to put weight on her right foot, a sharp pain shot up her leg and she winced.

"Are you okay? Did you get hurt?" Asked Henri in a rush. He drew nearer to her and wrapped one arm attentively around her waist for support.

Analote nodded, her dark brows furrowed with pain and her cheeks red from the embarrassment of finding herself in such an awkward position. "I think I twisted my ankle." She said softly.

"Here, let me carry you." Said Henri as he stooped to throw his other arm under her knees.

"No." She protested, shoving weakly against his chest. "I'm too heavy. You'll hurt your back."

"No I won't." He assured her. He ignored her protests and her weak attempt to push him away and swung her up into his arms so that he could carry her home like a bride over the threshold.

"Please put me down." Analote pleaded, all the pale skin that he could see now turning pink. Henri couldn't help but wonder if _all _her skin was turning the same shade of rose.

"It's fine. You're not heavy at all, and besides, I don't want you to injure yourself further." He said, smirking at her. He pulled her a little tighter against him.

Analote continued to protest, but eventually she gave up. He just wasn't listening to her and a little part of her didn't want him to ever put her down. She could hear her own heart pounding, the blood rushing through her veins, echoing between her ears. The heat of his body warmed her own and soothed the coldness that her family's cruel words had instilled into her core. Perhaps subconsciously, her arms snaked around his neck and she leaned her head against his chest. A small smile appeared as she listened to his heart beat. It was pounding even more loudly than her own.

Henri could hardly contain himself as Analote linked her arms around his neck and rested her head against him, relaxing into his body. His lips spread into a radiant smile that stretched from ear to ear. He eyed her every now and then, admiring the peaceful and strangely euphoric expression that had appeared on her face. He swallowed hard at the feeling of her warm breath on his neck. It was driving him crazy. It took all the willpower that he possessed not to kiss her then and there.

The mistress and Babette let out little cries as Henri walked into the house with Analote in his arms. "What do you think you are doing?" Demanded the mistress in outrage.

He laid her gently on the sofa and saw to it that her foot was elevated on a soft pillow. "She fell out of a tree and twisted her ankle." Henri explained as he saw to the girl.

"And why were you even in the orchard? I gave you several other chores to do." She asked, putting her bony hands on her equally boney hips.

"Analote wanted apples." He said, his eyes unwavering from hers.

She took the eye contact as a challenge. "You should have been the one to get the apples, not my daughter! It's your fault she's hurt!" She grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the door. "Babette, fetch my riding crop!" Her grip on Cinder's wrist tightened until the young man grimaced at the pain. "I'm going to teach this good for nothing a lesson he won't soon forget."

"No, mother, please!" Cried Analote. She attempted to get up to pull her mother's hand off of him, but as soon as she tried to bare weight on her foot, she lost her balance and fell to the floor. Crying, she reached and grabbed Henri's pants' leg. "Cinder didn't do anything wrong! He told me not to climb the tree myself, but I didn't listen! It's my fault! Please, don't hurt him!"

Babette enthusiastically gave her mother her riding crop and sneered down at Analote.

"Be quiet!" The mistress snapped. "Let him go, you silly girl! He must be punished for forgetting his place!" She swatted at her hand with the riding crop. The horse whip left puckered red marks on her skin and sent waves of pain up her arm, yet she did not wince or even acknowledge it. Her wide eyes remained glued to Cinder as tears fell freely.

As the mistress attempted to free him from her grip and drag Cinder away, he looked over his shoulder and gave Analote a reassuring smile. Silently, his lips moved to form words. _It'll be okay. Let me go. _Shutting her baby-like eyes finally in defeat, Analote released him and listened helplessly to his footfalls as they drew further and further away.


End file.
